Page 28 of Two’s A Charm

‘Well, then, off we go,’ said Uncle Oswald, donning his hat and reaching for his cane. ‘I hope it’s a monumental night for you. Drink up. Drink up!’ he called across the room.

A subdued cheer went up as people toasted with their purple drinks.

‘Just as long as Bruce makes it back for karaoke,’ called Bonnie, as the trio loped off out the door.

Bonnie barely had a moment to feel relief at Uncle Oswald’s departure, for just then Hannah, Alana and Kirsty sauntered in, all dressed in multicoloured outfits that did not include a hint of pink.

Bonnie gestured at her own pink outfit, confused.

Had their tradition withered like the succulent she’d purchased a few months back from The Winged Monkey, determined to keep something other than herself alive?

She could barely look Tilda Harvey, the plant lady who stocked the plant wall, in the eye.

Especially now that she knew how robust Effie’s pothos was.

‘On Wednesdays we wear pink?’ she reminded her friends, her tone a touch quizzical. This had been a tradition of theirs for years, ever since they’d watched Mean Girls during a sleepover at Hannah’s and had decided that the group dynamics of Regina and her entourage were thoroughly aspirational.

Alana’s eyes widened. ‘But Kirsty said—’

Kirsty jabbed her with an elbow, giving her a warning look.

Hannah glanced down at her fiery red ensemble and blinked thoughtfully. ‘Well, red is close . In the right light it’s practically pink.’

Bonnie folded her arms as she regarded the other outfits. ‘But denim and daffodil yellow are not, by any stretch of the imagination.’

‘Sorry,’ whispered Alana.

Smirking, Kirsty toyed with the buttercup sleeve of her shirt.

‘Look, traditions don’t have to last for ever.

Just because we’ve done something a certain way for however long doesn’t mean we’re obligated to keep doing it.

Like when my dad decided he was just going to do brisket for Thanksgiving instead of turkey. Grandma came around in the end.’

Ah, thought Bonnie. Kirsty had done the cicada thing where she’d emerged from underground after seventeen years and then eaten every other cicada in sight. Bonnie wasn’t sure that cicadas did this, but it seemed right. And Effie wasn’t around to ask.

Kirsty regarded one of Uncle Oswald’s coasters, then turned her attention back to Bonnie. ‘Anyway, no one’s going to stop you from wearing pink. Even if that particular tone washes you out just a little. Maybe you can keep repping the pink for us.’

‘Sure,’ said Bonnie uncertainly. She suddenly felt very off-kilter in her pink baby-doll dress, the one with the frilled skirt that ordinarily made her feel like a sexy birthday cake.

‘Besides, I’m seeing Bobby later,’ added Kirsty triumphantly. ‘And pink’s not really the vibe I’m going for.’

Bonnie swallowed. Kirsty’s words had hit her right in the stomach, with an impact that surprised her. Hannah and Alana had made some evasive remarks about Kirsty and Bobby, and Bonnie had obviously noticed Kirsty’s car in her neighbour’s driveway, even though she’d pretended she hadn’t.

But thinking about her friend and her neighbour together, actually together, made her realize just how much she missed having Bobby around, and how much a part of her life he truly was.

‘Babe, could we get a pitcher of the Memory Lane?’ asked Hannah, pointing at the purplish cocktail that Bonnie had snapped a Polaroid of and stuck to the menu wall as the Drink of the Evening. ‘It looks so good.’

‘It really is, though,’ agreed Kirsty. She leaned in, confessing: ‘I snuck some the other day when you weren’t looking. The day you asked me to take Bobby home.’ She said this last part with a smirk that seemed to carry a challenge with it.

So that had been Kirsty’s lipstick on the brass mug. But she’d seemed fine that day, unlike Bobby. Maybe Bonnie’s spell hadn’t backfired after all. Maybe Bobby had just been coming down with something.

‘Just sparkling water for me,’ said Alana.

Bonnie nodded, although her hands shook with confusion as she poured the drinks.

Everything was changing around her. Her friendship group was all askew, and now she couldn’t even rely on Bobby.

Not that she particularly wanted to ask anything of him, knowing that for some reason he’d started something with Kirsty. Kirsty!

But who else was she meant to talk to? In the past, there’d been Mom. Although honestly, she still often spoke to Mom. Sometimes when the wind was right, she could convince herself that Mom was talking back.

Back before the Chalmers sisters had drifted off into their separate realms, there’d been Effie as well. But Effie had grown so cold over the years, and especially since Mom’s death. Everything Bonnie did seemed to irritate Effie, and digging into why that might be terrified Bonnie.

The Effie of today certainly wasn’t going to offer the kind of advice that Bonnie wanted to hear.

She could just imagine her sister’s dismissal of her friends: she would point out how they were focused on status and appearance over everything.

How they were only interested in Bonnie because she helped elevate them.

And, said a little voice, how Bonnie had lorded that fact over them ever since she’d suddenly risen to the top of the popularity ladder at the age of fourteen.

Bonnie sighed. Maybe Effie was right. She’d never needed to consider her sister’s opinion on the matter of her friends before, which she’d always put down to jealousy. But maybe Effie had just been looking out for her.

Sliding the pitcher over to her friends, who headed out to the patio area to no doubt gossip about her, Bonnie hurried over with a top-off for Willamina from the bank.

Once a week, Willamina would come in, drawing out tarot cards from a beautifully gilded deck she’d picked up while travelling in France, and grumbling at the results.

But this evening Willamina was quietly sipping her drink while flipping through a library book. A romcom with a brightly illustrated cover. She fiddled with a yellow crystal that hung from her neck on a thin silvery chain. Bonnie immediately recognized Uncle Oswald’s handiwork.

‘No cards tonight?’ asked Bonnie, setting down a Memory Lane cocktail on one of Oswald’s branded agate coasters.

‘Cards?’ Willamina blinked. ‘Oh, right. No, I was thinking it was time for something different. A good, uplifting book. I think I’d prefer to have a bit of a laugh, you know?’

‘Oh, I get it,’ said Bonnie, clearing Willamina’s empty glass. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear you’re making positive changes for yourself. I love your necklace, too.’

‘Thanks!’ Willamina’s eyes sparkled happily. ‘I got it from Behind the Curtain. And a huge amethyst for my shrine by the front door. Oswald said it offers cleaning energy, and I think he’s right. It’s the deepest purple you’ve ever seen. I can’t stop looking at it.’

‘I love that for you,’ said Bonnie, trying not to think about the purple staining she’d seen on Oswald’s fingertips. He wouldn’t dye his crystals, would he? Surely not, given he was charging such a premium for them.

‘And I got a discount thanks to your coasters here.’ Willamina tapped the agate coaster. ‘I might have to bring this one over later. I have my eye on a gorgeous singing bowl.’

Bonnie expressed her delight at length. Every sale at Uncle Oswald’s meant money in her pocket, after all. She headed back to the bar where a wide-eyed girl with beachy waves in her hair was waiting. The things you could do with your hair when you didn’t have Effie cursing it.

‘Hey there. Are you Bonnie?’ The girl toyed with a crystal charm around her neck. ‘I’m Iris. I’m wondering if I can book your room upstairs for a birthday party next week?’

Brightening, Bonnie slid over the branded sheet she’d prepared with the rates and details for private events.

She lived for private parties. They let her put on her party-planner hat, which was her favourite of all the hats.

And they were lucrative. Between the room rental fee and her drinks minimum, plus the kickbacks from Uncle Oswald, this might just be her most profitable month yet.

So what if her friends had reneged on Pink Wednesday and Bobby had defected to Kirsty’s side?

Bonnie was kicking butt at this entrepreneurial thing.

Now all she had to do was keep charming her way to a front-page feature on the Yellowbrick Grove Gazette . Without setting off the sprinklers again.